


Power Play

by LetaDarnell



Category: The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996)
Genre: Bondage, Chastity Device, Exhibitionism, Gen, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multi, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:55:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23200546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetaDarnell/pseuds/LetaDarnell
Summary: Blatant porn.Frollo's going to pay for some things.  But he'll enjoy it.
Relationships: Frollo/Esmeralda/Phoebus
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

Paris, despite its grand cathedral and even grander rose windows, as an insignificant city at the time. Still, the chaos had not gone unnoticed beyond the city walls, especially in the higher ranks of the clergy.

It was days later that the minister’s survival was revealed. Whatever his fate, it had been forgotten not just by the news that the Bishop hard arrived in the city, denouncing the disaster that had ended in flames and smoke. Elation and homage quickly turned to fear and silence. 

The bishop moved into the Palace of Justice as his own, where he kept the Minister, too weak to move, let alone see the changes happening to his city. His injury was minor, thanks to an archer under the Bishop’s hire. Five shots through the flesh and two more through his robe and he was pinned against the Cathedral to wait until he was rescued as the crowd was distracted. He spent a week thankful and recovering from the loss of blood, as well as tears in muscles.

He was silent, save for grateful whispers and prayers. Rescued he may have been, but he was a prisoner, locked in a room in his own palace of justice. No authority, no title, no wealth. He had no clue about what was happening outside beyond that the bishop had rescued him, and he was intelligent enough to know that he had won no favors with anyone.

More than a week had past. He had missed mass while recovering. This Sunday, though, everything changed. Before the servants had given him mere statements that they had brought food and water, that he was no allowed to leave, that the bishop had given orders, to change his bandages or clothes. No conversations, only questions about pain.

This was suddenly different. Two servants, one man and one woman came into the room, carrying clothes and another with a bowl of fragrant water and a rag on top. “The Bishop would like to speak with you. Would you like help bathing and dressing?” the man asked, setting the clothes on the bed next to where Frollo sat. 

“Whichever would please the bishop,” Frollo answered nervously. He could command and army, yet the frightened him. Confession was awkward. The Archdeacon scared him when the man actually bothered using his power. The Bishop he did not want to refuse under any circumstances.

Frollo was grateful as the woman set the bowl and rag near his feet and the two backed away. “When you are ready, the Bishop will meet you in the private dining room.”

Frollo didn’t ponder the fragrance of the bath water or the finery of the clothes he had been given. While the silks and fine oils were a contrast to the modest linens and wound washing he had received before, he merely figured the Bishop was used to opulence, even when meeting prisoners.

Frollo was sure about his fate when he opened the door to his room without resistance or admonishment. It was a soldier, not a clergy guard and not a servant, who escorted him to the dining room. His fate was sealed, he knew it. The Bishop was merely prolonging it out of courtesy.

The private dining room was where important meetings took place. There was another, larger one for social visits as merchants, nobles, and magistrates tended to bring whole entourages, assuming that would impress or intimidate the minister. For those deemed truly important, it would be just them and their wits and negotiations in this smaller, more delicate, more refine room.

The Bishop was a tall man, not as portly as the archdeacon. Far more hair, as well.

The bishop gestured for Frollo to sit and turned his back as a servant poured wine for them both. Exotic fruits and fine cheeses and delicate meats were placed on the table, just out if Frollo’s reach.

“Now, I honestly like you, Claude Frollo. Cities, especially those tossed along the wayside no matter how much effort to show the layman the closest mortals can capture the grandeur of heaven, need people like you. You showed ferocity, unwavering determination, and faced a rain of molten lead head on. That is something I would prefer not to lose in a man of your positon. However, you let your petty personal desire tell you how to seek out justice, you burned down much of the city, including innocent Christians, and you took it upon yourself to challenge witchcraft. These are acts no man, even a man of the cloth, should be forgiven lightly.”

“Yes, sir,” Frollo said, hanging his head.

“Is that all you have to say?” The bishop asked, turning around. There had yet to be ire in his voice, but every syllable alluded to a coming intensity, like dark clouds hovering a waiting while giving the sun a spot to shine until the storm.

“I… no sir.” This time Frollo couldn’t find anyone to blame. Not Esmeralda, not the archdeacon, not anyone. He wanted to. Even thinking about it, the image of Esmeralda dancing was in the back of his mind now, haunting him with her full, beckoning lips, her swaying, thrusting hip, her long thighs stretching out from the silk skirt and her dress barely covering her tight round rear while desperately slinging to cover the tantalizing circles on her breasts. “I have sinned greatly and at your mercy.” He doubted there would be much mercy.

The bishop walked over to Frollo to stand behind him, gently shoving the wine glass towards the minister when he was close enough. Frollo took the hint and placed his hand on the stem of the glass, but kept it there, too afraid to move further.

“I am going to give you a choice, Claude,” The bishop said, placing a hand tightly on Frollo’s shoulder and squeezing hard against the minister’s already tense muscles. “The church may have failed you in giving you a way to maintain and separate your desire form your duty, but it was always up to you to handle yourself properly. Now, before you choose your fate, I wish to remind you that I like you, at least as a man so dedicated to duty and I am intrigued by your passion, s misplaced as it may have been.” The bishop put his other hand on Frollo’s other shoulder, this time his threatening grasps turning to a mild massage. “Whatever you choose is your own, and I will respect it, as you should as well. Have some wine, it can soothe your nerves and give you a better peace of mind for this decision. You should make your choice with dignity and calm, after all.”

The bishop moved to take his seat at the other end of the small table. “You will be free to partake in any of this you like once you’ve made your decision. Or at least shown contemplation over it.”

Shakily, Frollo took a sip of wine, finding it useless in reducing his fear and nervousness.

“You are a man of the law, specifically, man’s law. I am a man of the church, and thus I am a man of God’s law. You are familiar with dealing out punishment, fair but reprimanding. God’s law is different. There is no punishment, but penance. The point of penance is to embrace giving to God for both absolution and to find happiness in the act. Saints are well known for having found serenity in their penance.”

Frollo nodded, if only calmed by the fact that whatever he would face would likely be swift.

“Lust itself is not wrong, not matter what you have been told. When it interferes with duty and a devout life, it is control that is the problem, not lust itself. I will give you two options to control ourself. The first is to rid you of the problem. A moment under the knife with no pain. You give up any titles or claim to estates and property beyond what you can take with you and you leave Paris. Whatever you do with your life afterwards is your own and you are absolved of every sin you may have committed in this city. 

“The other choice is to relinquish control to the church. Permission will be decided by me or a lover after a union if you happened to find someone consensually. Instead of mass, you will confess to me or one of my men under my supervision and reward those under my command or those seeking a favor with the church. The offer of fornication with a man of your position is highly prized and would ensure loyalty to both of us. You would have nothing to fear, they would be sworn to secrecy and pay a high price for betrayal. While this penance will be in service to the church and thus to God, making it no sin, all you need to care about is your own enjoyment. If you cannot be given pleasure, then they have failed and will be admonished It will be no fault of yours.”


	2. Chapter 2

“But—“ Frollo stammered, wincing at his words. This was not the time to talk back. The choice was obvious, but his past held him back. Not his sin, but something that made his chees practically glow red and gave him the urge to down the rest of the full glass of wine, to which he instantly relented.

“You are free to speak on your own behalf,” the bishop said, his tone now warm and inviting. “I will answer any questions you may have, and I remind you that so long as you remain dignified about this, you may have any of this you would like.’

“I…um…, I’ve never….” Frollo tried to force himself to speak as the servant refilled his wine. It was tempting, but he doubted he could keep himself sober in his fear if he reached for it, knowing there would be no limit to the libation offered. “I don’t know how to…give…such a…reward.”

“You mean that despite such actions, you’ve never actually partaken in any carnal acts?”

“No,” Frollo answered, ashamed despite the intrigue in the bishop’s question. “Well, once. Almost. I was in the militia and after training, another boy and I were curious. The commander found us with his cock in my mouth and we were sent to separate units.” He had no idea about the other boy, but it was then that the archdeacon took an active interest in Frollo’s life, making any sort of interest, romantic or sexual impossible.

“Did you enjoy it? What little you did with him?” The bishop asked.

“I confessed and was reprimanded,” Frollo admitted.

“That is not what I asked. One act between two curious youths would hardly be damaging to a proper life.”

“I do not know,” Frollo said. “I had no protests other than wanting to keep it secret.”

“I cannot tell you which choice to make, Claude,” the bishop replied. “But I can promise you I never expected you to be experienced in what would be asked of you. I can promise I can give you the training and encouragement you need, if you so choose to relinquish control. For the most part, all you will need to do is to remain calm and focus on enjoying everything you can.”

“Will the archdeacon know of this??” Frollo asked. He doubted the archdeacon would approve of any sort of penance, especially this. If he had defied the command of the bishop’s idea of lust before, he would likely defy him again, blaming an accident or announcing everything and taking the reprimand after the damage had been done.”

“The archdeacon has been disposed of,” the bishop replied in an assuring voice, sensing Frollo’s fear. “He has been sentenced to the first option and sent to a monastery up north. I cannot have him preaching such rigid commands and aiding murderers while pretending those who are truly destitute do not exist.”

“What would I need to do if I chose to relinquish control?” of course it was his choice. He merely wanted to know if he would be bound in chains first.

“Very little. You will need to learn to adjust to anticipation and permanent restriction. Your needs will be fulfilled, so there will be no need to ever attempt to act upon them again. It will be painless, hidden from all others, and it will mean when you do receive the pleasure you have been dutifully waiting for, it will be far greater than if you had been left you your own…devices.”

Frollo’s naiveté kept him from understanding the bishop’s intentional entendre. “When would it begin?”

“After you eat, we shall commence with whatever choice you make. Either way, a proper bath will be involved.”

Frollo took a deep breath and grasped the wine glass again. “Then I wish to relinquish control over to the church as an act of penance and in the name of god himself.”

“Then I shall have everything prepared.” The servant placed a piece of curled up parchment in front of Frollo as well as ink and a quill.

As he read the contract, which gave many explicit details of various ways he would be restrained, all with promises without pain. As with the rest of the conversation, the true details beyond restraint were left vague or hidden. There were words and phrases he knew the meaning of, but not the contest or meaning of in such a situation. As before, they promised no pain, so Frollo pretended, for the time, the passages did not exist. Any pain would dismiss whatever they were. But there was one phrase he could not ignore, even if he had sealed his fate. “What does it mean here? It says here that there may be spectators.”

The bishop took a second scroll, seemingly identical form the servant before replying. “Some will seek only the reward of watching you being pleasured or cannot afford what will be asked in return for participating. There are even couples who are stricken with the inability to bear children and wish for the church to have another man attempt to aid the woman in conceiving in secret, as well.”

The same passage had mentioned the bishop himself would oversee every act excluding any between him and his future wife, should he take one, after the wedding night. The archdeacon had kept figurative eyes on him, preventing his every chance to come close to a partner or pleasure. Now, there would be literal eyes on him, this time encouraging acts that Frollo couldn’t’ conceive of.

He was too far in. Besides, he had been told that he would have help, whatever that entailed, to adjust to anything this entailed, watchful eyes included.

He was given only a moment to let the ink dry before the servant took the contract and accessories from him and began serving him various parts of the feast.

“Now,” the bishop said, setting fire to the parchment in his hand with the candle on the table. “I hold here the contract of the option you refused. You are to go back to work later today after you’ve been cleaned up properly. I expect you to be in shape to return to your regular duties including riding within a week. That should give you time to adjust and prepare for penance.” The bishop tossed the burning contract to the stone floor. “I will need to prepare for your education on this, especially as your first time should be as exquisite as possible.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about some odd formatting at the end.


	3. Chapter 3

Esmeralda and Phoebus had been the first two arrested by the Bishop, just after the Archdeacon. The Captain and the gypsy had been separated immediately and Esmeralda had been thrown into one of the more isolated cells of the palace. Most cells had bars, leaving a full view of other prisoners to set examples or to tease as they were granted blankets of extra food or release in exchange for immediate confession and revealing the secrets of the prisoner next door or across the hall. Esmeraldas’s door was thick wood, reinforced with metal bands and rivets and more than one lock.

There was a small grate through which a tray with water and a small piece of stale bread was pushed through. She suspected it was daily, but she had no idea how to tell. She soon gave up asking questions or yelling through the gate, getting no reply. She loon lost any inclination for defiance, having nothing to defy anymore.

It was a long time, at least to her, when she heard voices coming closer to her cell.

“Nothing useful from her, I assume?”

“Merely what is to be expected at first. She was silent after that.”

“No offers for bargaining?”

“None, sadly.”

“Either she’s stupid or still arrogant. Neither of those is useful to me. I’m not one to get my hopes up, but given new information I’ve found with Frollo, there is a sliver of a chance she may prove worthwhile.”

The locks on the door loudly slammed back and the heavy door opened. 

Part of her wanted to bolt out the door, past the stranger that had entered. Part of her wanted to spit in his face. Part of her wanted to make sure Phoebus and her people were safe. Most of her wanted enough water to afford to waste it on spit.

“Esmeralda, is it?” the stranger asked. She had no idea what a bishop was, or that he was responsible for her incarnation, let alone the rest of his machinations. All she knew was that he had to be important and was probably important to the church. “Honestly, I’d hate to have the wrong cell.”

“Quite convenient, then,” the man said. “Honestly, it’s been over a week and still don’t know my way around this place. I had to spend the first three days replacing everything in the torture chambers. So disorganized. Now, I’m not going to believe you’ve calmed down in such a short amount of time, but have you at least used it to consider any sort of deal you wish to make with me? Surely you’re smart enough to figure out why you’re here.”

“I’m here because someone saved that wicked Minister of Justice,” Esmeralda replied. “I defied him and he can’t stand it.”

“Well, part of that is true,” the man said, waving his hand. “I did save him and he was mad about that. If he tries something like that again, I’ll be testing out one of my new replacements on him for a short while to remind him about gratitude. But none of that concerns you and why you’re here. Especially why you’re likely to be here for quite a while.”

“Where is Phoebus?” she asked.

The man gave a warm chuckle. “Phoebus has gone back to his job. He swore and oath of loyalty. He currently serves me and soon he will be serving under Frollo, who serves me. Neither of them is allowed to release you. Witchcraft is an act against god, not against man’s law. Frollo was tasked to persecute witches, as the Archdeacon thrust his own duties upon the minister. I do not abide by witches and I do not abide by those who harbor them.”

“I am no witch,” she muttered through gritted teeth.

“That certainly puts me in a position,” the man said. “You’re clever, but not as bright as you consider yourself. You should have made a deal with the minister and bargained with him. At the moment you’re useless. The problem with the minister has been solved; he will serve penance every Sunday for the rest of his life. The archdeacon is gone and I will be appointing a new one by the end of this month. All vagabonds and beggars have been gathered and taken to the church; those in need will receive charity and aid and the frauds will be punished. The Court of Miracles has been found and all of your people who are as innocent as you say they are will be left alone, as will anyone else. You no longer have anything to offer any more.”

“Then you can release me?” she asked, hopeful. “I can prove I am not a witch.”

“Yes, that would be the problem,” the man replied. “I really cannot have you set loose in while the minister is…adjusting. You are too likely to protest his freedom or to interfere with his private sessions of piety. If he is to learn for himself and for me to use him to teach this city, I need you not to cause trouble. If I punish you for the incident at the festival in any other way than to keep you here, you will no doubt repeat yourself. If I cast you away, you will come back.”

“I’m stuck here forever?”

“More likely until that annoying streak in you goes away,” he commented. “But given what I’ve heard, that’s more likely the rest of your life. Hardly forever.”

“Wait!” she yelled out as he turned to leave. “Surely there is something. I promise to behave if it means my freedom.”

“I am sorry, but it is not possible. Not unless you have changed your mind about the minister since the festival. I am not speaking of the destruction you caused to innocent people, but also your performance. I would also need far more than your mere word, as this may be intended for your enjoyment, but it also requires lifelong dedication to secrecy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure about this one.
> 
> Also, I could still use a beta reader and or someone who wants to give me a bit more...'help'


	4. Chapter 4

Frollo was unused to being pampered. He may have dressed in finery, held his posture regally, held disdain for ‘peasant festivals’, eaten fine foods, and lived in the Palace of Justice, but he crafter his life around austerity and suffering for The Lord. It was how he was raised as a child and after his parents had passed, it was how the archdeacon ordered how to follow God’s law with no exceptions. Frivolities, even in service to the church and to God were both haunting and enticing just by their mention. 

This situation, however, was awkward. New servants--the bishop’s servants, or at least new ones he had hired—meticulously and gently washed every inch of him. The soap was far more luxurious and smoother than he was used to. He had never had his hair washed with more than diluted vinegar or scented water. His face was gently dabbed with its own concoction. He forced himself to let them polish and preen. As much as he wanted to protest with so many hands on him, he refused to upset the bishop, who decided to make things immeasurably worse by watching the entire time.

Whatever was going on under those robes Frollo was all too aware of, given the man’s expressions of both eager anticipation and admiration at the servants’ work. It wasn’t all he was admiring. Frollo had never assumed there had been anything impressive about him, which had spurned his rise to power and his firm grip on every inch of it he gained. Power was the only thing he had to defend himself in society and the only thing he felt he could ever offer a woman, had any ever become the slightest bit interested. Being gazed upon like this was… new. He gripped the edged of the tub, forcing himself not to let the servants know how he felt about the Bishop watching him.

He had little time to worry about that. One out of the bath, ‘preparations’ began. Frollo was used to pain, though he appreciated the bishop hold his hand and the soft demeanor of his voice and how the man’s gaze changed to comforting as the servants used warm wax to strip offending hair away.

“The pain should abide soon,” the bishop said, placing a hand gently between Frollo’s thighs, adjusting his stance to give the servant easier access to rub in soothing oils. The other one had disappeared, only to return shortly with a leather satchel and a large leather belt. “This may feel rather awkward at first, but you should adjust to it by tonight.” 

Frollo gasped as the bishop touched him between his legs for the first time. It was the first time anyone had touched him since that incident with the other boy. The bishop’s touch was gentle, as is handling glass. It was no belt, but an odd harness, practically a bridle for his anatomy that had, until now, been forbidden to even think about. 

“It will be all over in a minute,” the bishop cajoled the minister as the harness as locked in place permanently. Bands were fastened around his testes as was a ring around his cock. All three were attached to the belt of the harness. The contraption as a whole held his organs forward slightly. The ring around his cock was no mere ring; it was a curved, smooth piece of metal, made to rub teasingly between his legs at the slightest movement.

“I’m sorry,” Frollo muttered, closing his eyes. He couldn’t help react to the bishop’s touch. No one had ever touched him like that, not even himself. And the way he watched…Frollo should have been frightened, but he enjoyed it. He was sure that was wrong, deeply offensive, and to the bishop no less.

“It is quite understandable,” the bishop said, his hand wrapping around Frollo’s cock. “It is good to see that you are eager for this, but you will have to learn patience. One last thing.” The bishop took his hand form the minister’s cock and replaced it with an odd metal contraption. A cage held Frollo’s greedy erection downward and was locked to the ring, leaving him to squirm, causing the petal piece between his legs to rub against him, fueling the carnal fire.

The minister turned to the bishop, begging with his eyes to grant him relief he had been promised and had yet to know. “Part of your penance is to get used to such things. You need to learn not to go chasing after you own desires for petty needs. You are going to learn crave to give others pleasure and are grateful for every chance to give yourself to others for a higher purpose. When you have learned that is now your place with The Lord, you will be rewarded for leaving your life of sin behind.”

The servants returned, as strapping Frollo into the harness has bene entirely the bishop’s doings. One brought him clothes while the other, his cloak.

“For now, go about your business. You serve Him on His day only. Don’t bother with work, I will have everything ready for you tomorrow. Paris is different now, and you should relax after your recovery. You are free to visit the stables, but I do not want you riding until the next week.”

“What should I do?” Frollo asked, grateful to don his pants over the embarrassing experience. It didn’t make any of it go away, nor did it stop the teasing piece between his legs, but at least he could pretend to keep such a thing a secret form the servants. He never liked being nude around servants. This had been the first time he had an assisted bath since he was a child. He had even insisted on privacy when injured.

“Whatever you want,” the bishop told him in a friendly voice. “I am here to oversee what is relevant to my position only. You have your own life and other duties. You are not going to learn anything if you abandon those. I will be staying here for a while, as it will be some time before I can settle into the cathedral, but this is yours to command, and the city is yours to protect. I am a guest here when my counsel is not needed.”

“Thank you.” That was all Frollo knew to say before heading to the door.

“Oh, and one last thing,” the bishop called out. “You are giving them a service that is immeasurable in value. I want to know of anyone whom you suspect speaking of this or attempting to torment you over it. There is no room in this world who slander those who do holy work . However, do not be surprised if others have come to know about the size of what you’ve been carrying in your trousers all this time. You will understand this Sunday, and hopefully you’ll be sharing a pleasant surprise on your first day.”

Frollo did not reply and kept walking, having no idea the etiquette about such things.

“See you at dinner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fixed a chapter mess up. Sorry. 
> 
> Also, yes, I could use a kinky beta.


	5. Chapter 5

It was a struggle, getting used everything. Inside, it was difficult to look the bishop in the eye, especially when he was so casual about things. It genuinely seemed, even to the servants who knew all the livid details about the contract that the bishop wanted to be his friend. Frollo didn’t make friends. He didn’t know how.

Going outside of the palace was hardly better.

There were no more beggars or sleeping drunkards. There were gypsies, but far fewer and all of them working—or at least looking for something to look like work and unfortunately he’d have to straighten out those who weren’t good at it. Everyone was either in a hurry or had someone to talk to. Everyone greeted him cordially or ran off to avoid him. But there were the stares. Even from people who though he couldn’t see them, there were stares. At first he was terrified one of the servants given away the secret. After all, the bishop couldn’t execute everyone in Paris. There had always been people looking for some scandal about him and no doubt it was too enticing to keep to themselves. Perhaps someone had offered them a large sum or an estate, or they could help but let slip the most perfect bit of gossip while selling his silverware.

He was about to rush home when he noticed people giving him ample space to avoid him as he stood and contemplated what to do. They were afraid of him. He had set Paris on fire, fallen from the cathedral, and lived without any consequences other than a long recovery and short vacation as far as any of them knew. Then a revelation hit him. He had no power. Maybe over people who couldn’t tell dirt from their backside or idiots who assumed he was on vacation permanently and assumed his captain was as easily bribed as he was distracted. No, who had the real power was whoever could look at the bishop the right way with an offer of something amusing while making him scream like whore.

Yet, if he faltered in his current duties, the bishop would sure find some other use for him. He could be sold off as useless to Barbary pirates or sent off to work in a city and await being captured by Moors. Or even locked in his own prison and sentenced to the same as now but no regards for his own pleasure or safety.

“Sir!” a familiar voice called out.

“Phoebus?” Frollo questioned. Why was he free to go about, let alone still in his position? What had he settled for, or more likely, what bribe had he offered?

“Sir, it’s wonderful to see you up and about again. I was worried.”

“Worried about what, exactly?” Frollo asked. This was going to be either amusing or gratifying.

“Honestly, I was worried I’d end up serving under someone worse at their job,” Phoebus commented. “Besides, I know I went against order, but I was still worried about you. Everyone else may hate to admit it, but you’re still human.”

“Appreciated. But don’t let this interfere with orders. And take what complaints you have to the bishop form now on.”

“Understood,” Phoebus stated. “You seem a bit…confused.”

“I am not used to being off-duty,” Frollo admitted. I’ll be taking charge again tomorrow, but you’ll be commanding the militia for a few days as I won’t be riding yet.”

“Of course sir,” Phoebus said. “What about…” Phoebus gestured over his shoulder to a gypsy woman. She was sitting on a wall, singing for money.

“Phoebus, whatever debauchery you plan on, do it on your own time and leave me out of it,” Frollo said, pinching his nose.

“I meant what did you want me to do with her?” Phoebus asked.

Frollo wanted to tell Phoebus to take her and toss her in the ocean, himself as well. “Phoebus, I’ll have bishop clear out the Court of Miracles if I can convince him the gypsies are still up to anything serious. He has told me he has, for the most part, solved my problem. Go tell her singing for money is reserved for prostitutes and she can move along or go to the brothel district.”

“Is that all, Sir?” Phoebus asked, warily.

“Phoebus, I’m hoping this is just nerves dues to the bishop’s changes,” Frollo remarked. He’d been outside for less than an hour and he was already having to deal with too much idiocy. “Their court was full of murderers and worse. I’ve lost over a dozen men trying who tried infiltrating that level of hell and I’ve found countless more broken in more ways than you can conceive of. I want you to speak to the bishop tomorrow and if such monsters haven’t been cleared out, arrange for it to be final. She, however, is may be troublesome but she is hardly an invading Arab or a Moorish warlord. I have known the difference for decades and I want you to act as if you do as well. And I want any soldiers in my militia whipped if they don’t.”

“Absolutely, sir,” Phoebus replied, all concern having evaporated at his superior’s words. The Captain rushed off to speak with the woman, taking more time then Frollo thought was necessary. Of course that man would take time to talk to a beautiful woman. He knew how. Phoebus could wander off into any stranger’s bed he wanted while he was going to be tossed to the fairytale wolves.

Thinking about things made his nether region ache, making something shriek in his mind to find a way to defy the bishop’s plans for him. Panting and trying to focus on something else, Frollo realized something that hardly quelled his secret strain against the contraption, but at least put his mind at ease about its permanent tantalizing. He may be at the beck and call and authority of the bishop, but unlike the archdeacon, he had the bishop’s ear if he was obedient. Eased every second of the day, offered as a plaything to anyone with a full purse or shiny trinket or entertaining spectacle, but at least he could get something out of all of this. He’d never have the luck with ladies Phoebus would have, but sure the bishop had taken an interest in that. First, though, there were two people who could easily ruin anything he gained in this. Or worse.

“Captain!” Frollo called out, walking over to the blonde man. The woman was gone. “I am still acclimating to several changes made by the bishop. Have you heard anything of Esmeralda?”

“The bishop had her arrested.” Frollo’s question had hit a nerve with the captain. “I was told not to ask about her.”

“I shouldn’t be pressing the question. I apologize.” Things were likely serious if the bishop had separated the two, especially if he had forbidden knowledge of one, let alone contact with the other.

“I’m sorry, what?” Phoebus asked, taken aback by Frollo’s last words.

“There was another gypsy, probably a friend of hers,” Frollo continued, ignoring Phoebus’s shock. “I never bothered to learn his name. Puppeteer. Rather uncreative. He had an annoying habit of scaring children worse than I did and couldn’t keep his hands off anyone if he had a chance. Have you heard anything about such a person?”

“I don’t really keep track of gypsies, sir.” One was enough trouble, Phoebus decided.

“Understandable,” Frollo replied. “Do tell me if you hear anything. And be careful. Lord knows where those hands have been.”

“Of course, sir.

“Is there anything I should be aware of? The bishop has hardly told me anything.”

“The bishop is about as fond of gypsies breaking the law as you were, sir. He told me you’ve leave them alone or at least treat them as you did that nice lady back there. He’s locked up most of the vicious ones, and wants you to round up the rest. As well as, you know, anyone else like that.”

“Knowing where the court is, whoever the bishop is looking for takes priority. Honestly, it was their anonymity that made them such a concern. Do what you can, and be careful until I’m well enough to ride.”

“It’s close to sunset. I have to oversee some shifts. Can the bishop’s orders wait until tonight?”

“Unless things seem dire, I’m sure he’ll let you wait until tomorrow,” Frollo answered. “I really should get back. I’m expected back at the Place of Justice soon. Good night, captain.”

“Good night, sir. And tell the bishop I look forward to Sunday.”


	6. Chapter 6

Frollo wasn’t sure how to take the bishop’s friendly chats or Phoebus’s comment. Sleep was awkward, but at least he got some comfort from cover from his night clothes as a true gentleman would wear, despite the privacy he was afforded.

Given how he had the solace of being left alone, Frollo spent most of the day filling out paperwork. Most of it was execution orders to approve and sign, which, despite his reputation, he had not been looking forward to. He was good at his job and enjoyed the fruits of successful hunts for criminals. Still, it confused the hell out of him when it came to anything else. One moment he’s having someone hanged, the next moment he’s expected to greet a woman with propriety when she barely dressed herself. The world would be a lot easier without people in it.

The belt and his tight hose help him adjust faster than he wanted to admit, drowning himself in work especially. Still, as the bishop had told him, in the back of his mind was that creeping urge to break free and find even the slightest release, which became farther and farther away, but so much sweeter as he dreamed of reaching for it.

Beyond that it was only minor things that Frollo managed to notice. None of his paperwork mentioned any gypsy individual that came close to either Esmeralda or whoever that puppeteer was. The only thing that dampened Phoebus’s mood was executions and the captain had to patrol while Frollo attended to them.

He decided to work through Saturday, as he usually spend his time riding for recreation then. He hated anything that kept him from his duties of administering the law or being able to relax the way he wanted. The bishop’s cheerful mood just aggravated him.

Saturday evening Frollo couldn’t hide his restlessness. He’d learned to ignore his body no matter how much it complained throughout the night and the cage made little difference. It had been fear of the archdeacon that had taught him the habit of sleeping through the night. Now a similar threat was posed and the bishop easily caught on during the evening meal. It was hardly guesswork, given that he not only knew the circumstances, but had them prepared more than he had told Frollo.

“You seem nervous,” the bishop commented from across the table.

Frollo kept silent. He was nervous about too many things and all of them too vague to put into words. Despite the bishop’s assurances throughout the week, Frollo refused to even try to talk to him, having no idea how and even more terrified than of the archdeacon given he had far more power and wasn’t afraid to use it if he did let slip a question. Now he was pinned in a proverbial corner, biting his lip while trying to come up with some excuse to get out of this conversation.

“I keep reminding you not to stress about tomorrow,” the bishop said calmly. “Are you even interested?”

Frollo didn’t know what to do. He certainly had no intention to say No, but he also couldn’t will himself to answer, truthfully or not.

The bishop sighed, realizing his mistake. He couldn’t blame the minister entirely for his trepidation. The archdeacon had laid down more laws than the whole of the words in the Holy Book and forced Frollo to memorize them, effectively drawing a line in the sand and instilling the notion that stepping over it even slightly meant the man of the law would be both lucky and grateful if the only thing he lost was a significant amount of blood.

Now he had demanded that Frollo not only cross the line but happily await being led far across in the name of being rescued from Hellfire. All his attempts at encouraging Frollo had been the equivalent of holding him down and striking him while screaming at him to relax and driving home the opposite message than intended. 

“Oh, you poor man, I am so sorry,” the bishop apologized and rose from his seat. This time he was aware of how nervous coming closer made the minister. Before sitting next to the man who struggled not to fidget, he gestured for the servants to leave. Now, with some privacy, he could attempt to clean up one of the many messes of the people left by the archdeacon. Sadly, the bishop was beginning to understand the twisted knot that was Frollo’s mind. Between the archdeacon’s puritanical restrictions and having learned the rest from the whispers and bloody messes he later had to drag away from the whorehouses regularly, Frollo’s thoughts on how his own carnal actions should play out wrestled for dominance and he likely figured the most pleasurably sort of literal wrestling would get him what he needed as things would naturally sort them out. How playing with fire became involved in that mess, the bishop would learn later.

“Now,” the bishop began. He leaned against the dinner table, looking at the seated minister. He carefully raised his hand and placed it on the frightened man’s cheek. His gesture didn’t work, as now Frollo tried to keep an eye on both the bishop and his hand, regarding both the same way one would if they found themselves too close to a venomous spider. This was a man who was taught never to show weakness, not even flinch, in the presence of the clergy. Undaunted, the bishop continued, stroking Frollo’s cheek gently with his thumb as he spoke. “Can you tell me what it is you’re so worried about?”

“I cannot fail the church,” Frollo said. Oh, he certainly could. After all, he had more than once. He just hated and feared the consequences and when the church brings in a higher power, the punishment for straying from the flock means whatever he’d be beaten with was going to get sharper.

“There are very few ways you can fail at this tomorrow,” the bishop told him. “You are not intending to run away before tomorrow?”

“Of course not,” Frollo replied. He hadn’t thought of it before and no he was certain it would have been a futile effort if he had seen a point in it.

“Are you planning anything violent in protest?”

“No,” Frollo answered. Violence was for work and it had been several years since the last assassination attempt in his home. His enemies had the decency not to attack him during mass, although the occasional attempt might happen once he left the church.

“Are you afraid, then?” the bishop asked, his lower fingers wrapping around Frollo’s chin.

Frollo had yet to even blink since the man had put his hand on his face. He was fighting a losing battle, but he couldn’t allow himself such weakness until he knew he was safe.

“There is nothing to fear. No one will be allowed to cause you pain and touch you further. You will be safe from even the harshest whisper. You are a reward for only the best and they will prove to you that they are worthy of such a prize. If ever you doubt your own importance in this, I want you to close your eyes and take a deep breath and focus. Go on.”

Frollo took a shaky breath to steady himself as he closed his eyes, doubting this would change anything.

“Just focus on my hand. Tell me to remove it if you hate it or adjust it if you prefer. Whichever you like.”

Keeping his eyes closed, Frollo tentatively reached up, and delicately sought in the air for the man’s hand until he graced rough flesh that wasn’t his own. His timorous hand took the bishop’s and moved it slightly along his face. He could only hope he was doing this right. The Minister’s hand slid down’ the bishop’s, then to the man’s wrist, then to his side and he waited to know how badly he must have failed at even this.

“There we go,” the bishop cajoled. His thumb went back to gently petting Frollo’s face, now just under his ear. His mid fingers played with the curl of hair just above it. “Better?”

Frollo opened his eyes and took a chance by blinking at the bishop, who just smiled at him. “Is that all?” he asked, as the bishop’s hand slid away.

“There may seem to be a lot asked of you, especially at first. Just focus on what you enjoy and show them how to make it better.” The bishop patted Frollo’s hand before leaving to return to his chair. “No need to worry further. The church will see to everything on this matter from now on. I’ll have someone send you some tea to help you rest well tonight. I can offer you a few things in the morning as well, for nerves or if you think you might want some encouragement before it starts. You’ll be entirely lucid. Don’t be ashamed to ask. Now, why don’t we finish dinner with a bit more pleasantness?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what I'm doing.

It was Sunday.

Sunday.

Usually Frollo was attending mass before the servants had enough time to prepare breakfast and they abandoned the cold food on the table, uninterested in dealing with any mood hunger or the archdeacon had put him in.

This was meant to be different. He’s be serving the bishop instead to. Still dedicated to God, but…very different. Well, he wasn’t here and barging into his room, so Frollo figured he might as well get dressed and see what surprise the man had planned for him.

The bishop was in the best mood Frollo had seen him in. His only instructions were to put such worried aside for now and to enjoy the morning meal. Despite the intent for his well-being, or possibly because of it, Frollo acquiesced and admitted, he wanted whatever the bishop was offering for nerves and doubted he’d need only that. He’d been betrayed by his own body in many ways more than once. Fear could do a lot of things to you, as could pain, but so could the wrong touch…or a gaze from a hungry, teasing woman with her dress nearly falling off. It was actually a pleasant meal. Frollo had forgotten to ask about Phoebus. He couldn’t ask the captain personally in case the man was just glad to see he wasn’t saddled with an incompetent or selfish commander. He couldn’t ask the bishop what Phoebus meant, in case the captain was indeed clueless about the bishop’s machinations. 

The meal ended and Frollo was sent up to his room with some foul tasting tea. He was told it would be best if he would feel better the sooner he got it over with. He was also told he shouldn’t keep guests waiting. His room was empty when he found it, but, pressured by the bishop’s words and wanting to calm himself, he tolerated the tea as best he could as he shot it down his throat.

As the door rattled, he ran into the washroom, slamming the door. He had a sudden urge to relieve himself of every speck of evidence of breakfast until he was sure he had no need to even clean his backside.

He finally admitted to himself that he really had no intention—or opportunity—to escape. He was lucky to have been saved, both by man and by God and he owed them both. He’d seen his own torture chambers and he used the practice only to the letter of the law. It had taken a week learning under the previous Minister until he could keep himself form vomiting at the sight of criminals being systematically tortured to confess. Still, he was subject to the law of both man and Lord and he was a man of dignity and he was going to follow both, at least under someone competent when carrying them out.

He exited the washroom and decided to stop asking questions for the entire day. The bishop had invited Phoebus, as Frollo had suspected. What Frollo would have never expected was that the bishop had invited Esmeralda, the cause of all this mess.

“There’s no reason to worry from either of these two,” the bishop said, walking over to Frollo, Esmeralda’s wrist held tightly in his hand. He took Frollo’s hand in his free hand and led him to stand in front of the bed. “Phoebus here volunteered; he’s eager to help you learn to enjoy this, and might possibly teach you few things. She, however,” he said, pulling Esmeralda away from the minister, “is here to learn something else entirely. She will be staying with you to learn manner, and if she isn’t so stubborn, how to read and write. If she does, she can enjoy the luxury you provide her as your wife, so long as she can handle this without causing trouble. There are plenty of ladies, even maids and cooks employed here who would envy her position, and I wish to remind her of it. You don’t have to worry about her. One of us will keep an eye on her. Now, I do believe I’ve kept you waiting for far too long.” The bishop released Frollo’s wrist and softly stroked Follo’s back.

The bishop stepped back, taking Esmeralda with him and Frollo was left to his own wits, which amounted to none as the moment. Whatever he had been given had indeed calmed his nerves, but whatever he’d been given in order to be ‘eager’ for this had had a strong effect as well, leaving him more clueless than otherwise.

Phoebus stepped closer and two opposing thoughts entered Frollo’s head: this wasn’t what men should do—at least that was what the archdeacon had screamed into his head every time Frollo decided murderers and spies should be a higher priority than bothering people in their bedrooms. The other was that he had no idea what to do, especially to make this at all enjoyable for either of them. All he knew of what he’d done as a teenager and surely that wouldn’t please anyone already experienced.

Phoebus took the minister’s hat and deftly tossed it onto a nearby chair. “You should take this off, sir,” Phoebus said, gripping the sides of Frollo’s long robe.

“But…Frollo tried. There were a lot of ‘buts’ in his mind. A finger at his lips stopped him from spilling out what they were.

Phoebus’s finger moves away, the rest of his hand soon cupping Frollo’s gaunt cheek, held the same way as the bishop had demonstrated before, only…different. There was a true intention of comfort despite his calloused palm. Phoebus leaned in, and while gentle with his lips, was forceful with his tongue, kissed him, making Frollo forget everything but his aching strain against his metal bondage. 

Suddenly Phoebus broke off the kiss and flipped Frollo’s black robe over his head in a quick motion. “On the bed.”

Frollo let himself fall backwards to land on the bed and to await what else was in store.

“Eyes closed. Just like your first time,” Phoebus coaxed.

Frollo knew what this was. This was slower, more careful than the choking and rough treatment he’d experienced as a teen. His tongue graced the phallus, allowing the tip inside his inexperienced mouth. His surprise that the taste was not as unpleasant as he had expected was accompanied by his surprised at hands sliding along his arms.

Slender fingers slid along the laces of his doublet, seeking the knots that imprisoned him in the tight clothing. As Esmeralda’s fingers tickled as she unlaced tiny strands, Frollo leaned forward, finding himself taking more into his mouth. “Just relax,” she instructed her breath hot against his neck. “Keep your jaw loose and don’t concentrate. She had been the only thing he had worried about, more concentrating on her than the act or even the bishop’s command to enjoy himself. Her words were rough, unsoothing, but her eagerness brought pleasure to the act. He had wanted her to desire being carnal and intimate acts with him. 

If this was what it took to achieve that, he felt it would be far riskier than burning down Paris. He could hardly openly ask for such a thing. Then again, what was her limit? What would she give him?

Her hands settled on his shoulders and gripped them lightly. There was no gentleness to her touch, merely trepidation that she might break him.

She pushed him forward, easing his hands to Phoebus’s hips. At first he almost panicked, ignoring her gruff attempt to comfort him by shushing him. Then he realized she had given him far more control. He pulled back without swallowing, saliva dripping from his lips down the firm shaft of flesh to seep into golden hair.


	8. Chapter 8

He really shouldn’t be doing this, Frollo thought. There was too much scandal to this, despite what the bishop had order and no matter how much he enjoyed the warm, salty flesh in his mouth as he learned to relax and let his tongue play over the eager tip.

If he had been in the war or were part of the militia he commanded, this would be nothing. If he were a peasant like Esmeralda, this would be nothing. If he was a magistrate, like those constantly breathing down his neck for order in the city and trails to go as they wanted, or even nobility, this would be nothing.

But this was out of pleasure, command or not. This wasn’t out of despair or loneliness, it wasn’t out of ignorance, and it wasn’t luxury. Yet, to him, right now, it was all of those and that was why he wanted it and he was damn sure he would want it all again, or more if he discovered the rumored nuances and creativity he’d yet to partake in.

It was a struggle, letting himself enjoy this act, even forgetting the danger of having Esmeralda witness this and handing her a greater scandal that she could conceive of for her to flaunt all over Paris or how this was far from what his station in life should be offering him. He tried to ignore it, but the more he enjoyed himself, the more he indulged in a just discovered oral pleasure, the more he squirmed as he strained against the cage hidden in his hose as he couldn’t help but let loose a thick dribble to puddle and ooze its way down his tight clothing.

His enjoyment and worry had both kept him from noticing Esmeralda’s quick work with his tightly laced sleeves and chest of his jerkin. She gently pulled it off and then savagely pulled him away from Phoebus and flipped his doublet over his head, ignoring the last of his sleeves.

His worry shifted to a personal nervousness. The scars. He’d never shown anyone besides the doctor and an errant servant smart enough to stay silent about seeing them when he was too drugged or tried to notice them about. He was never proud of his scars, though he doubted this could possibly give Esmeralda a chance to mock him publicly over them. Yet, he never wanted anyone, even himself, to know they were there, especially long enough to dwell on them. 

Over his tenure in fighting for his city, he’d been attacked by every weapon possible, plus mnay more improvised, from candlesticks to broke wheels torn off carts, to anything that could be set on fire or sharpened. One long, prominent scar stood out, marring nearly his entire chest.

He wanted to cover himself, but his arms were stuck in his shirt, only pulled away enough to reveal marks form what he considered ‘his better days’. He leaned back against Esmeralda; fearing one of those involved in this tryst would reveal the scars he’d earned as true punishment.

“Just relax,” she whispered, pressing her lips against he back of his ear. Again, he attempts to be gentle, not actually wanting to be so kind to him, came as more of a threat than comfort to him.

She shifted, pulling away and letting him flop onto the bed, while leaning over him and pulling apart the knot of her corset and reveling in giving her breasts freedom from their linen confines in front of him.

With Phoebus’s hands gently easing between his thighs and seeing her, the woman he’d chased through the entire city just to touch her hair, in her unveiled bronze nudity with her hand trailing down his chest, he began to wonder if this was in fact a gift for his submission.

His elated pondering were proven true as he felt Phoebus’s hands on his belt and a click before the cage was finally slid off.

This was a new sense of freedom for him. It went beyond what these two were teaching him, what they were giving him, even beyond the fact that both of them were somehow enjoying this. Just having his erection stretch to its fullest after everything he’d done, even knowing it was just the start so far, just being allowed to touch the warm air itself felt amazing.

Someone else was entranced with his temporary freedom from his cage and to his surprise, it was Esmeralda, her fingertips exploring the flesh , as if testing to see if what she had previously despised was real.

Just as Frollo began to calm himself, still overwhelmed by what he’d been allowed and given, there were suddenly two startling, but welcome, intrusions that made his gasp, unsure of what to do but let him creep further.

Esmeralda’s fingers had traced their way upwards to tickle the tip before she pressed her lips against it. Her delicate hand could barely wrap around his girth. Even Phoebus chuckled at the size as a slippery fingertip poked inside.

“Just relax,” Phoebus practically cooed, pushing his finger deeper inside.

With is arms stuck in his shirt still, and one hand of Esmeralda’s on his chest holding his down, Frollo realized this was the Bishop’s lesson. He was helpless unless he wanted to end this experience and fight against the others, and that was how it was meant to be, likely he’d be held down with stronger bonds that just his own clothing. And he had no intention of fighting back. Esmeraldas’s other hand was wrapped around his erection and Phoebus’s free hand gripping his rear and pushing him up slightly kept him from thrusting as he wanted. 

And thus he relented, no longer fighting his moans or the gasp that came suddenly. “All the way in, Sir. Second finger, don’t be scared.”

That was what he did, unable to help his reaction to such a new experience. His insides tightened and Esmeralda pulled away to push him down with both hands. Still, Phoebus’s finger pushed forward. 

Frollo began to relax as Phoebus moved his fingers, rubbing against some wonderful spot he had never imagined and the Minister let go of fighting finally.

Phoebus gripped his supple round flesh tighter as the minister’s erect phallus began to throb, leaking heavily.

His eyes rolled back, his fingers twitching wildly within the linen confines, Frollo went silent, biting his lips as Esmeralda traced her tongue in circles around his dribbling tip and Phoebus lifted his rear higher, matghing his own in height and continued to massage him inside.

He couldn’t contain the bestial noise as his hips thrust desperately, his arousal erupting in warm ooze allover his scared chest.

Panting, Frollo decided this was worth it. Giving in, Esmeralda’s claws safely retracted no matter how pent up she may be, and it ended in pleasure that was slowly subsiding, still rippling throughout all of him. Frollo lay back enjoy the lingering calm, now utterly at ease, no longer holding any intent to struggle out of his shirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First time writing things this explicitly


	9. Chapter 9

Frollo panted every part of him relaxed. He had never felt such calm before, even as he felt Phoebus moving his thighs apart or spreading more oil where before Frollo refused to even acknowledge having such anatomy. Esmeralda’s hand was again squeezing him gently, searching for a response as her other traced his scars, in an attempt to satisfy some curiosity from within her large green eyes.

He gasped as Phoebus pushed his own erection inside instead of fingers this time. He slid in further, and Frollo let out a moan he had no idea he was capable of. This was amazing. It was nothing like how he had imagined it in the prior few days. This wasn’t conquest, as he had feared, but being enjoyed as he had been told. Giving in to the almost electrical touch of flesh inside flesh, each already craving more and deeper, moving, squeezing, knees at his sides, fingers on silk, fingers tracing upwards along more flesh as it perked to attention, lips and tongue dancing along his chest, legs and hips lifted by arms and by themselves. No one had ever hinted at such enjoyment since Esmeralda’s dance and it was in that moment with her on top, teasing for a mere kiss, that he was told this was the way it was meant to be. Neither of them had listened and neither of them cared much for the past at the moment.

“Are you sure this is your first time?” Phoebus teased. He was in so deep. He wasn’t something—someone—to hold onto, and at this angle, the rest of Frollo’s rear was just as enticing. His hands were holding the man’s muscular thighs, teasing the clean flesh that had managed to avoid any scarring, either from battle or punishment. He wants to grab lower, right next to the best par to the minister, and squeeze.

Suddenly, it was his turn to have Esmeralda in his face. The woman who had caused this entire mess. The woman who had nearly doomed his career twice thanks to the bishop. The woman who it as a miracle she had survived, let alone was invited here. The woman he couldn’t deny who made him just as hard, who made his want to trace his tongue between her breasts and down to that wild tangle between her legs where he could feel her dripping as she pressed against his thigh.

She leaned in and let out a soft growl as she lowered herself onto the thick, awaiting phallus of someone else. This, everything like this was something she wanted. Phoebus, her Phoebus. Blonde hair to run her dark fingers through, hard muscles all over. Strong, powerful hips, thrusting, ramming, faster, deeper, other hips matching , only far more eager as she spread her legs wider to wrap around Phoebus’s tanned buttocks. Everything the other could give her, from tight, impatient nipples, to his whole body twitching under her finger or tongue circling them. Tiny fluff practically made of clouds trailing down to that wide pillar made for her, caged until the wild beast was let out only to submit to wet lips.

Her hands on His shoulder, one of his one on her waist and the other squeezing the tempting globes of Frollo’s . she leaned forward, pushing her bosom against Phoebus’s . She would kiss him if she wasn’t moaning; trying to keep herself from screaming like the wild savage she had so often been called. She wanted to pull hips to hips to hips to complete some sort of circuit.

Everything was for her, it had to be or she wouldn’t feel such pleasure building to an inevitable crescendo she’ d only felt once or twice—her mid was gone save for wanting more from them both.

She couldn’t help it. She wanted that burst of physical joy inside of her now. Clawing, shrieking, she had to have it despite only enjoying one.

It was Frollo caught in something deeper. He had only know some the craving of knowing something beyond his imagination, a peek, a touch, a whisper to take that spark and turn it into a true fire. Always rushing somewhere, even in calm, rumored he didn’t sleep… and suddenly something so calming and yet too fast to keep up with had taken over him.

So deep inside, part of him he couldn’t even control on his own was squeezing him pleasure , was a man who a month ago had been assign as his inferior officer, a fortnight ago was his insubordinate and wanted him dead. And yet, so determined, so commanding, and yet so gentle. 

Thrust in side, over and over, and craving it from some stranger who had taken nearly everything from him. And now the woman he had wanted, who had pulled him away from God even him his sleep had found some fascination with the most sinful part of him. She had taken it, engulfed it, and claimed it as her own. Everything she did was for herself, ever squeeze, every twist of her wait, and every movement of her hips to keep him from twisting and seeking something better from either of them. Her back was to him but nothing about her mattered anymore. She was beyond perfect. He was beyond love. How could either of those be wrong when they felt this perfect, like touching an angels’ halo and drowning in the softness of its feathered wing.

It was wonderful. It was perfect. It was too much.

“Oh god,” Phoebus muttered, his hands moving from Esmeralda’s hips to Frollo’s firm, squeezable flesh. Her thighs tightened around the ministers, as he writhed, trying to twist side to side as his insides were set ablaze by magic, heightening his sensations and taking over his body. No pain, but pleasure rocketing straight to even his fingertips. His mind was exploding in abstract mages and thoughts, a myriad of thoughts half-formed or too great to comprehend.

Faster, deeper, and tighter, the three struggled to command their bodies as they could manage through he haze created by the burst of sensual ecstasy. Muscles vied for dominance an an attempt to conquer the others flesh until they each reached a final crescendo: First Phoebus, left to wonder how such arousing potential at such a glorious climax, as if he’d bene the one taken this morning, as the soldier kept thrusting to draw out the moment; then Frollo himself, unsure if what he was doing was corrected, but it felt so right and perfect, emptying decades of spent energy and confusing into a willing—no-demanding vessel of flesh left to crave and despise such desire as he went limp everywhere; Esmeralda last and almost angelically triumphant in her physical epiphany.

She had wanted this to tease him, for hopes that the bishop was lying. But also, as some odd need for revenge. Frollo had wanted her and now he was practically handed to her and all she had to do was enjoy herself and help herself to all his luxuries. Later she’d run away, or find some way to put the man attached to something she could swear was made for her into some sort of midery. At the moment, she wanted to feel the to of her clitoris send ripples of the memory of having conquered the minister in his own bed for his own punishment and sweet, sweet orgasm with Phoebus. Her Phoebus.

The solider did not share such sentiments. To see Esmeralda free and healthy, whether she chose to enjoy their sexual tryst was up to her. Being separated from her gypsy betrothed hadn’t bothered him as much as the idea of being tortured to death as a traitor to France. She wasn’t much, but she was something. An ally, a friend, an innocent, at least nothing worth burning a city down about. Witchcraft wasn’t much of a matter once you’ve seen someone’s eyes and hands destroyed with just a long wand of sharpened steel.

But this moment, even after he was spent and everyone was lying is sticky puddles and about to get back to hating each other, he could forget about a war that was far away and would never reach here. At least not this building. At least not this room. At least not this bed. Everything could burn around them and all that mattered was turning the minister’s face toward him as he smiled.

He placed a hand on the man’s gaunt face, fingers in his silken silver hair. This was no time for shame. 

The best part out of everything this morning was the minister tentatively smiling back at him.

Something could change.

He wasn’t sure what and he didn’t care when. All that mattered was the minister’s hand gently on his back as he pulled the man close.


	10. Chapter 10

Frollo awoke to the bells as usual. As he rubbed his eyes, he realized there were more chimes than usual, heralding he had slept in late, something he had never done since he had graduated university. “Damn” he whispered, getting up and throwing the covers aside.

“You’re still here?” Esmeralda asked, stretching. As she woke up.

“I live here,” he shot back. He wasn’t in the mood to have anything to do with her right now.

He was extremely thankful that two corners of his room had screens for privacy. Servants would come in at any time they pleased and both parties were more comfortable with him changing or a doctor tending to an open wound in private.

The last thing he needed right now was a third person, and that is just what he got.

A servant walked in, paying no attention to her master behind the screen. She tossed the bundle she carried at Esmeralda and began picking up clothes left on the floor.

“What are these?” Esmeralda asked, sniffing the fabric worriedly.

“Your clothes,” the servant told her. She had better things to do.

“What did you do with them?” Esmeralda asked after finding the new scent horrifying.

“I cleaned them,” she said, leaving, along with the man who paid her. 

Esmeralda was left a moment of quiet, before the servant returned, alone. “You’re just a guest here.”

Frollo rushed down the stairs. The Bishop’s personality didn’t matter to him. The archdeacon had been amiable, but he’d still bring out whatever punishment he felt was needed, especially when it he wasn’t doing the work. The bishop was far less lazy and hardly seemed to be as fond of pretty speeches.

The Bishop was downstairs waiting for Frollo to join him in sharing a meal, as usual. It wasn’t much comfort to Frollo.

“You look worried,” the Bishop said as Frollo sat down.

Frollo tensed, searching for a proper answer. All he could think of was thanking him for the privacy to put the cage back. He didn’t want his servants poking about at him there again. The closest any of them wanted to have anything to do with his bedroom was cleaning up, and both he and his servants were very happy about that arrangement.

“If this is about Esmeralda, just do your best to ignore her.”

“Why is she here?” Frollo asked. He may have enjoyed last night, but he still preferred Esmeralda to either a guest or to have a better way of keeping her under control. He wondered if he’d come back to his home on fire, or just all his silver missing.

“It’s the easiest way to keep an eye on her,” the bishop admitted casually. “your servants won’t stand for even a single piece of paper missing, no one’s going to let her break the law if she’s betrothed to you of all people, and she owes me, so it’s easy to make sure she keeps her promise. Also, I can find her quite easily, even if after I move out.”

“I’ll do my best with the responsibility of watching over her, then,” Frollo replied, wishing he could dump the bohemian off on someone else.

“You’re just here to put out fires, not to keep her from starting them,” the bishop tried to reassure the minister. “That’s not what you were worried about, is it?”

“Not really. I missed evening prayer and nearly slept past this,” Frollo admitted, wishing the Bishop weren’t both eager to get work done and so perceptive.

“That’s hardly anything,” the bishop said, waving his hand at the sentiment. “Given all the people in the world, god will hardly notice one person for a night. Besides, you were recovering from something much more important.”

Frollo stayed silent, confused by the nonchalance.

“You don’t seem to have much appetite despite last night,” the bishop commented.

“I’m just eager to get back to work,” Frollo said. Technically, it was true.

“About that,” the Bishop causally commented. “I’ll be taking over interrogation duties. After all, if there’s one pagan or practitioner of witchcraft, there’s bound to be more. Anyone I suspect might be interested in going after the authority of the Law of the King, however, I’ll have you take over interrogation.”

“Yes, sir.” Despite appearances, Frollow didn’t believe in torture beyond punishing his soldiers. Of course, there were different forms of execution, but those were all dependent upon class and crime. Frankly, leaving someone in a cell or having them executed solved the same problem: they weren’t his problem anymore. He had someone else in charge of what torture was called for; he doubted he could ever concentrate on proper questioning and operating complex machinery at the same time. People tended to get used to being smacked around; he would know.

Still, he wasn’t going to admit any of that to the Bishop. He stiffened instinctually, contemplating how to handle this situation. He may have gone against the pointless and contrarian orders of the church before, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t afraid of its power, and he bishop wasn’t a slacker, like the archdeacon was.

Worse, the bishop noticed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any suggestions for the story are welcome

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for more formatting mistakes. I'm not sure how to fix them.
> 
> If anyone is interested in being a beta or wants to throw a suggestion or rp session as 'inspiration' my way, please send me an e-mail.
> 
> I will update when I have some privacy.


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